


Memory Lane

by K_K_TiBal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Best Friends, Cursed Dean, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic-Users, Sort of at least, Urban Fantasy, Witch Castiel, unobservant dean, witch!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 07:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11286333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_K_TiBal/pseuds/K_K_TiBal
Summary: Dean's best friend Castiel is a genuine, bonafide witch with potions and magic spells to prove it.You'd think he'd have learned by now to be more careful around Castiel's things.





	Memory Lane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [destieldrabblesdaily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destieldrabblesdaily/gifts).



> A belated birthday gift for Shirley aka [destieldrabblesdaily](http://destieldrabblesdaily.tumblr.com)! Happy birthday!!!
> 
> And as always, a big thanks to [whelvenwings](http://whelvenwings.tumblr.com) betaing so this doesn't look like trash :)
> 
> Hit me up on my tumblr [thebloggerbloggerfun](http://thebloggerbloggerfun.tumblr.com)

“So, what does this do again?”

Dean frowned as he brushed his fingers along the dried-out tentacle from _something_ that Castiel had hanging up along the wall in his work room, alongside several bundles of herbs and various other ingredients that Castiel used in his potions.

Castiel paused his chopping to glance over at his friend.

“It’s highly poisonous, and I would recommend not touching it.”

Dean made a small noise of surprise in the back of his throat and jerked his hand back.

“Jesus, really?”

“No, but please don’t touch it anyway. It’s very rare.”

Nonetheless, Dean rubbed his hand on the front of his jeans as he sat at the table across from Castiel, just in case.

“Not to rush you or anything, but are you about done?” Dean rested his chin in his hands as he watched Castiel begin scooping up the finely-chopped bits of fire beetle and gently poured them into a small vial. “I’ve been dying to try out that new burger place and I’m starving.”

“I have tea in the kitchen if you want something,” Castiel murmured, his concentration never wavering from his work.

“I said I’m _hungry.”_ Dean flopped down into a pout, knowing how much it bugged Cas whenever he dropped his attitude to the age of a twelve-year-old. “You said we could go out to eat today, so here I am.”

Castiel let out a long sigh and wiped off his knife on a napkin.

“Yes. I did. I’m sorry.” He put a stopper in the vial and looked up, a pleading tension in his eyes. “Give me just a few more minutes to finish this. I didn’t realize I was going to have so many potion commissions this week, and I really need to get them completed.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Dean stood up from the table and ruffled Castiel’s hair as he passed.

As much of a hard time as he gave his friend for being so busy now, Dean couldn’t help the swell of pride he felt whenever Castiel mentioned his small business. Trying to get it up and running had been an upward battle for the past two years and that was only after spending the seven years before that honing his craft and practising his magic. Dean had been there for every step of the way; he couldn’t be prouder of Castiel for finally succeeding.

Even if that meant they didn’t to get spend as much time together as Dean would like, anymore.

At least now Castiel didn’t have time to date anyone. Not that he had dated before his business began to boom.

And not that Dean cared.

Dean whistled as he made his way to the kitchen, and was - as always - struck by the harsh polarity between Castiel’s work room, and the rest of his home.

The work room was almost everything that you’d expect from a witch. Dark, with candles lighting the interior if the sun wasn’t shining, and lots of sigils and sage lining the walls - alongside any other bits of ingredients that Castiel was preparing for any upcoming potions.

The kitchen, however, looked pretty similar to Dean’s. It was all plastic and linoleum, perfectly ordinary. The nearness of this normal world should have made the witchy workroom feel over the top and unreal; in fact, it was the kitchen in its beige and white boredom that felt oddly comical, even fake.

Dean stretched his arms over his head as he made his way over to the tea kettle that Castiel had set on top of the stove, and figured a bit of tea wouldn’t hurt.

There were definitely some benefits to being best friends with a witch. For one thing, most of the time, Castiel wouldn’t let Dean and his brother Sam stay sick for more than a day before brewing up an antidote for them - but sometimes Castiel would also ask if they would be so kind as to test out some of his more interesting spells for him.

A double-edged sword, really.

Dean paused just before he grasped the kettle, and let his hand hover above it, catching sight of a small glass cup with a brown liquid set off to the side of the counter. Little wisps of steam already rising off of it.

Dean remembered Cas’ words - _there's tea in the kitchen._ He must have made some specially, right before Dean had arrived.

Pre-made tea. Nice.

The warm cup rested nicely in Dean’s hands. It was almost too hot - he would have preferred it if Castiel had put it in some sort of mug, instead of a glass container - but this would work well enough for now. They'd be leaving soon to go eat, anyway.

He pressed the rim of the cup to his lips as he walked back to Castiel’s work room and took a long sip. There was definitely some remnant of herbal essence in the tea, but he couldn’t quite place the taste and it was _absolutely_ not sweet enough for him.

“Cas, buddy, no offense but this tea tastes awful,” Dean announced as he stepped back into the work room and took another long sip, just to make sure. _Ugh._

“You must have made it wrong, then,” Castiel murmured, holding a small vial of blue liquid up to the candlelight. It glittered.

“I’m talking about the one _you_ made.” Dean brought the cup up to his lips again and made a disgusted face just as Castiel looked over, eyes falling on the cup in Dean’s hand. “You need more sugar or something.”

The vial Castiel was holding fell from his hands and shattered on the table.

“Dean, _no -”_

“Whoa. Are you -?”

Castiel shot up from where he was seated and took a few fast steps towards Dean. He took hold of Dean's arm, hard, eyes wide - he looked as if he was expecting Dean to explode at any moment.

“Dean, how are you feeling?”

Dean frowned and leaned back, just a little unnerved by Castiel’s behavior.

“Uh, fine? Why?”

Castiel held out a cautious hand, like someone who was trying to calm down a wild animal.

“Alright. Dean. I need you to remain calm.”

Dean felt a cold shiver run down his spine, almost in time with Castiel’s words.

“... why? What did I -”

“Because in about thirty seconds, you’re going to fall unconscious. I haven't even begun work on a counter-potion, I have nothing to stop the effects -”

“ _What?_ ”

Castiel winced as Dean stumbled backwards, staring in shock. He was going to... _what?_

“Well, you shouldn’t have drunk my memory potion!” Castiel said gesturing at the glass still half full of the brown liquid.

“You said there was _tea,”_ Dean fired back, feeling himself start to panic a little. The cold shivers that had run along his spine were doubling and getting more intense as the seconds passed.

“I said you could _make_ tea!”

“You never said -”

“Look -” Castiel stepped forward and placed a hand on Dean’s forehead clinically. “This potion is still highly experimental, so I’m not sure what you’re going to see, but-”

“I’m going to _see_ shit?” Dean said, slapping Castiel’s hand away and immediately staggering forwards, his vision going blurry around the edges. “Whoa.” The world heaved and turned.

“Dean!”

Dean squinted, trying to focus on Castiel’s worried face, but it was growing more and more difficult with every passing second.

“Dean, I’m sorry if you see -”

And his vision went black.

***

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed when Dean finally opened his eyes again. He felt groggy and uncoordinated, just as he usually did when he had just woken up - but he wasn’t lying on the ground like he’d expected. He was standing with two feet planted solidly on the ground.

Blinking, Dean took in his surroundings, feeling a trickle of familiarity run down his back as he slowly recognised the room he was now in.

Cas’ living room.

Dean rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand and shook his head, trying to get the fog out of his brain.

It was only then that he noticed a figure sitting on the living room couch, and pouring drinks that had been set up on the coffee table.

“Cas?” Dean asked, taking a step forward. “Cas, what the hell did you give me, man?”

The figure continued pouring into two glass cups, completely ignoring him.

“Cas, buddy.”

Dean frowned and snapped his fingers. Sure, he’d been subject to a silent treatment from Cas before, but this was… different.

“Cas?” Dean frowned and reached out to tap him on the shoulder, gasping when his hand passed right through it. “What the -”

“Cas!” Dean jolted and looked behind him at the sound of a familiar, yet strange voice. It was like the voice he usually heard whenever he played back recordings of himself.

Jumping down the stairway, cheeks already a rosy pink color - in the way Dean recognised as a symptom of having drunk an excessive amount of alcohol - was… himself?

What the hell was going on?

“Caaaaaas,” the fake-Dean drawled, passing right by the real one without a second glance and flopping down on the couch after setting down a bottle of rum. “We did it, can you believe? M’done with college and you're -” he gestured vaguely, ”a genuine witch.”

The real Dean squinted at the two of them, both with wide smiles on their faces. Dean squinted at the Castiel he saw, studying him closely. There were subtle changes about him that were different from the Castiel he knew. This Cas didn't have a sigil tattoo on his arm yet, and he looked quite a few years younger.

They both did, in fact.

“I know,” Castiel huffed out a breath of amused air and handed Dean the glass he'd just filled. “Who would have thought?”

“I mean...” The fake-Dean brought the glass up to his lips and took a long draught before speaking again. “We all knew you were gonna make it, it's me that had me worried.”

It was like a light switch had flipped on in the real-Dean's head. This wasn't some random hallucination that he was experiencing, this was a memory.

Specifically, of the night after they'd both graduated from their respective schools.

Admittedly, as Dean strained to remember what had happened that night, it was a little bit of a blur - and after watching himself down yet another gulp of alcohol, he could see why.

So, if he couldn't remember much of that night, why was he being shown it so clearly? Cas had said he'd drunk a memory potion. Maybe this was to get it back?

“You don't give yourself enough credit,” Castiel murmured, shaking his head when the fake-Dean offered him more alcohol. “You're incredibly smart and talented, and you've already got a job lined up.”

“But’m not as cool as you,” the fake-Dean said, his voice become more slurred as he slouched into the couch. “You've got magic, and you're nice, and you're smart, and you're really pretty.”

The real-Dean clapped a hand over his mouth.

Had he really _said_ that?

Castiel froze at the admittance and Dean saw a light blush bloom across the already-pink cheeks of his younger face.

“Well, thank you.” Cas smiled. “I think you're pretty pretty, too.”

The fake-Dean laughed and slumped over, resting his head against Castiel’s shoulder.

“You're a good friend, Cas. The best.”

The real-Dean swallowed as he slowly watched himself fall asleep on Castiel and begin to lightly snore.

Castiel reached a hand up, ever-so-slowly, stopped completely - and then brushed it once, gently, through the fake-Dean's hair.

“You're a good friend as well, Dean.”

There was something wistful in his voice, a hint at something more - but before Dean could analyze it any harder, the space around him began to fade, and the darkness overcame him once again.

***

Dean was more prepared for it this time - the slow fade into consciousness, the blurry edges, and the new surrounding.

He was at a bake sale.

Dean rubbed at his eyes as he focused in on the many tables that were all set up outside near town hall, the volume rising around him like a stereo being turned up until he was in the midst of a chattering melee. All around him was the bustling of people casually wandering through the different booths.

It was a sunny summer day that Dean barely recognized. When had he ever been to a -

 _Oh._ The memory surged back. There had been a day around two years ago, when Cas had dragged both him and Balthazar to the market to help set up his own booth. Besides various medicinal pastries that they had set up for sale, Castiel also had many potions and spells pre-made in hopes of getting people interested in his shop.

Dean scanned the area, and found Castiel unloading some vials of golden liquid onto a table just a few feet away.

So if Castiel was there, then he himself must be - ah. There.

Dean spotted himself laughing and pleasantly chatting with an older woman a few tables down. If he remembered correctly, she'd been telling him about the times she'd accidentally caught herself on fire in the middle of a spell, and he was telling her about the time he’d had to throw a bowl of water on Castiel when the same thing had happened to him.

He moved forward to hear the conversation, but the more steps he took towards the fake-Dean, the more blurry the edges of his vision became and the more muted everyone else's voices sounded - like he was trying to hear through earplugs.

It didn't make sense.

He stopped in his tracks and frowned, staring around himself as though one of the happy shoppers in the crowd could give him answers. If this was his memory, shouldn't he be able to hear better the closer he was to his fake-self?

After a moment, Dean took a careful step backwards, and the sound grew barely more vivid.

Another step backwards yielded even more sound.

Huh.

So if this wasn't _his own_ memory, this must be -

Dean turned and found Castiel staring right over his shoulder with one of the softest and most heart-melting smiles painted on his face.

He turned again, expecting to see a golden retriever, or something equally as adorable - but all he could see in Castiel’s line of vision was the fake-Dean in an animated conversation with the old woman.

“So, when are you going to tell him?”

Both Dean and Castiel jumped at the sound of a new voice interrupting their thoughts.

With a light thud, Balthazar set down a box next to their booth and wiped his hands on his shirt, that smug smile a permanent feature of his.

“What?” Castiel asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Dean. When are you going to tell him?”

Dean raised an eyebrow as he watched Castiel scan Balthazar’s face for answers.

“Tell him what?”

“That you're in love with him,” Balthazar said with a shrug, pulling out more potions as if what he'd just said was normal banter and not something earth-shattering.

“What?” Castiel said, pretending not to hear.

“ _What?”_ Dean said, unheard.

“I said, when are you going to tell Dean that you're in love with him?” Balthazar repeated. He sounded as casual as though he were asking about the weather.

Dean’s heart was pounding while he waited for Castiel’s answer - his inevitable denial. It _couldn't_ be, it was impossible -

Castiel paused, and for a moment looked like he was going to argue - and then let out a long sigh as he rubbed a hand over his eyes.

“I don't know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Probably never.”

“Honestly, it's amazing he hasn't figured it out yet,” Balthazar mused. “Especially when you keep looking at him like that.”

Castiel ducked his head as the real-Dean gaped, unable to believe this was happening. This had to be made up. There was no way this could actually be a memory, right? Sure, it was happening the way he remembered it, albeit from a different perspective -but Castiel couldn't have been in love with him. No way. It was impossible.

Wasn't it?

Castiel cast a quick glance back over to where the fake-Dean was standing, and Dean felt that impossibility being shaken. Cas’ face was an open book.

“I don't think I could ever tell him in person.” Castiel said, distracting himself by rearranging the display on his table and waving at a passerby. “If anything, I would have to write it down in a letter and give it to him so I can leave the room. I don't want to see his face.”

Balthazar snorted and rested a hand on his hip. “I don't think you'll have anything to worry about, but whatever makes you comfortable.”

They both immediately busied themselves as the fake-Dean approached, a jovial smile still present on his face.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “She said I looked like her grandson. What are we talking about?”

Both Balthazar and Castiel looked at each other and shrugged nonchalantly.

“Nothing.”

And the memory faded again.

***

The sunny day had disappeared when Dean opened his eyes yet again, and he found himself in Castiel’s kitchen, with Castiel himself pacing back and forth. As the blurry world sharpened, he watched as Cas began to gesture to himself, his hands tightly-closed into tense fists.

“I know that we've been friends for a long time,” he muttered under his breath. “But I was wondering if - if you wanted -”

Castiel cleared his throat and paused in front of a wall, talking to it as if it were a person.

“I just - I _feel_ \- when I'm around you, I -” Castiel stopped, leaning forward to press his forehead against the wall with a groan. “I can't do this.”

Dean stepped forward, reaching out to touch his shoulder, but his hand passed through once again.

Castiel gave a long, drawn-out sigh before turning back around and pulling out a piece of paper and a pen from their respective drawers. He sat down at the table, and began to write.

Dean hesitantly leaned over Castiel’s shoulder to get a closer look at what he was writing. He got as far as _Dear Dean,_ before sucking in a breath and leaning back again. So far, Castiel had never given him this letter, and he had no idea how long ago this memory was - but the last one had been at least two years ago. Maybe this one was almost as old, maybe the letter had been thrown away long since; maybe Cas didn't want him to read it.

Dean waited for ten minutes while Castiel scratched something out on the paper, pausing every once in awhile to tap the pen against his chin in thought.

Just as Castiel was folding the paper into perfect thirds, the sound of the front door opening rang through the house.

“Hey, Cas!”

Dean heard his own voice and instantly combed his brain, trying to remember what day this could possibly be.

Castiel clasped his hands behind his back, holding the letter out of view as Dean watched himself burst into the kitchen excitedly.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, an eyebrow raised as he surveyed the fake-Dean. “Good news?”

“The _best.”_ The fake-Dean placed a hand over his heart and leaned against the table dramatically. “I'm such a lucky guy, Cas.”

Oh no.

Oh _no._

 _“_ Do tell.”

Dean could see Castiel nervously running his fingers along the edges of the letter behind his back from where he was standing.

“Don't,” the real-Dean murmured, helpless to stop the next words that he knew were coming out of his mouth. “Shut up. Shut up...”

“I got a date with _Lisa.”_ The fake-Dean gushed, “Dude, she might be the one, you know?”

Dean shook his head furiously, wishing he could share the knowledge he knew now with the Him of the past.

Lisa had absolutely _not_ been the one.

They'd gone a few dates last year before deciding that they just weren't going to work out due to too many drastic differences between them. They had parted amiably, but soulmates they were not.

“Wow!” Dean could hear the strain in Castiel's voice, which he had obviously missed the first time around. “I'm so happy for you.”

One of Castiel's wrists twisted behind him, and the letter vanished into thin air.

“Me too,” the fake-Dean said with a happy sigh.

Dean watched, his heart dropping when he saw Castiel gazing at Dean with a crooked half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“ _Say_ something,” the real-Dean pleaded, knowing it was useless. “Oh my god, I'm an idiot.”

The memory began to fade again, the fake-Dean’s voice, thankfully, fading with it.

The jump was a lot less abrupt this time, and he didn't even fade out completely before he found himself in Castiel's bedroom. From the looks of the dark window, night had fallen - and if Dean had to guess based on the less extreme fade, it was still the same day.

Castiel was sitting on his bed, letter in hand, staring down at it in quiet contemplation.

After a moment, Castiel lifted the paper in his hands, his body language making it seem like he was about to tear it in two - before he paused, and slumped back down again.

Dean watched as Castiel got up off the bed, crossing the room to open the small dresser tucked in a corner, and placing the letter in the bottom drawer with a sigh.

He closed the drawer, and then simply knelt in front of the dresser. His expression was conflicted, and Dean thought he understood why. It had to be so, so tempting for Cas to destroy the letter - and yet, how could he?

Dean shook his head.

How could he have been so _stupid?_ The signs had been there the whole time, and he'd been too illiterate to read them.

“Cas, I -”

He reached forward again, just as the memory began to blur around the edges and fade into oblivion.

***

“Dean?”

Castiel's voice filled his foggy mind as he groaned, slowly forcing himself awake again.

Blinking, Dean felt the cool press of a wet cloth to his forehead and saw the familiar face of Castiel hovering over him, worry etched into his features.

“I don't remember this one,” Dean mumbled, dazed, slowly propping himself up on… where was he?

Castiel's bed, apparently, a quick glance around told him.

“That's because it's not a memory.” Castiel peeled the cloth from his forehead and set it on the desk beside the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Uh...” Dean rubbed at his eyes. “Confused. What the hell did I take?”

Castiel cleared his throat.

“A memory potion I'm working on developing. It's supposed to help you locate an object you misplaced or information you forgot, but…”

He trailed off with a shrug.

“But what?”

“But I can't figure out how to get it to stop attaching itself to emotional memories and not mundane ones.” he said, not quite meeting Dean’s eyes.

There was a pregnant pause.

“Um, the potion was specifically tailored to me so…. out of curiosity, what did you see?” he said, and Dean could hear the forced casual tone in his voice.

Dean licked his lips and slowly stood up, making his way to the dresser in the corner of the room.

“Dean….”

He paused before slowly opening the bottom drawer, giving Cas time to stop him if he wanted.

When no protest came, Dean plucked the familiar letter from where it had been stowed away, glancing back towards Castiel.

“Can I read this?”

Castiel looked like he was trying to decide whether he should run from the room or grab it out of Dean’s hands before he could read it.

A hesitant nod.

Dean carefully unfolded it, and began to read.

 

_Dear Dean,_

_You've been my best friend for a very long time, and your friendship means more than almost anything else I have. That isn't why I'm writing this letter, though._

_I want you to know that I also feel more for you than just friendship. If you don't feel the same, I absolutely understand and I won't let this come between us. I only want to tell you because I don’t know how long I can hide it, and I want you to find out from me._

_I think I'm in love with you, Dean. And it's the best magic I'll ever have. I wanted you to know._

_Castiel_

 

Dean pressed his lips together and re-folded the letter.

“I'm… sorry…”

Dean looked up at the soft voice, and saw Castiel with his head ducked down, hands clasped in his lap.

Dean shook his head as he sat back down on the bed, reaching a hand out to cover Castiel's - and was finally able to touch him, without his hand passing through.

“Don't be,” he said, squeezing Cas’ hand tightly. “I, uh… I just wish this had happened sooner.”

Castiel's head jerked upwards in surprise. “Really?”

Dean smiled.

“Yeah. I'm sorry for being such an idiot, Cas.”

“You…?” Cas’ face looked caught between hope and disbelief.

Dean leaned forward - with slowness, again giving Castiel a chance to stop him - before gently pressing his lips to Castiel's, a perfect moment caught in a memory that he planned on never forgetting. Cas’ hand reached out, and closed tightly around the hem of Dean's shirt - Dean could feel the pull of it.

“I… I think I'm in love with you too, Cas,” Dean said, once he'd pulled away - not too far, though. Still closer than he'd ever allowed himself to be before.

“Dean,” Castiel murmured, still blinking away the surprise. “Are you sure? You're not just saying that?”

Dean shook his head and chuckled. “I'm sure. I think I've been in love with you for a long time. I was just too dumb to see it until I took that trip down memory lane.”

Castiel rubbed at the back of his head with a small smile. “Guess I should leave my experiments out more often.”

“I mean, I wouldn't go _that_ far. I don't want to end up a cat next time.”

“But you'd be a very cute cat.”

Dean laughed and pressed a quick kiss to Castiel's cheek, making him blush profusely.

“C’mon. We should still go check out this burger joint. But this time,” he winked, “it's a date.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr Link](http://thebloggerbloggerfun.tumblr.com/post/162185158816/memory-lane)


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